Dovator
by Bullers
Summary: Alexi Dovator is not your typical Inquisitor. Guided by a strong moral compass, he has a bad habit of finding trouble before it finds him.
1. Chapter 1

**PART 1 : GAEA PRIME **

She screamed again, louder this time as she collapsed to her knees, soft sand shifting under her weight. Tears streamed down the smooth skin of her face, hidden behind her long, dark hair. She was almost completely naked, body wrapped in pieces of parchment, each bearing ancient scripture ranging from psychic wards to litanies of purity. Her skin was cut in places, the result of self-flagellation and ritual cleansing, and anointed with consecrated oils. Meant to be signs of her dedication to the Imperial creed, they made her look more like a worshipper of the dark gods of Chaos than an Imperial citizen. Sunlight filtered through the rafters of the ruined building and was reflected by the oils, giving the pain wracked figure a soft, surreal glow. Inquisitor Alexi Dovator watched her carefully, blue eyes narrowing in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, wishing the demonstration of her abilities would stop. He felt bad for being a part of her pain, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that she wasn't human, wasn't like him. _She's a witch_, he told himself, _an affront to the Emperor, no matter how repentant she may be. Not human at all._ It wasn't working.

Dovator looked up from the convulsing woman, and examined the face of the fat man conducting this "demonstration." The man had given her to Dovator as a gift, his own personal psychic ground, bound to his mind for life. Her one purpose, the jiggling figure had explained, unable to hide his excitement, was to fall victim to whatever psychic attack was directed at her master and dissipate its effects. A wonderful gift, Dovator had thought, thanking the man for his generosity. Then the bastard had decided a demonstration was in order, and with a wide, sadistic grin on his face, channelled his psychic energies into an attack on Dovator's mind.

Still smiling, the corpulent fool giggled softly to himself, almost as if the screaming, crying figure before him was some sort of joke. Dovator had seen enough. "Stop!" he shouted, surprising himself as much as the quivering hulk.

"What? Why?" the fat man sounded disappointed, his three chins vibrating with each syllable. "We aren't even at the good part of the demonstration yet. A little longer and I can show you it's safety mechanism. The thing actually renders itself unconscious in an attempt to escape death!"

"She," Dovator muttered.

"What?"

"_She_," he repeated, louder this time.

"She? _It_'s a freak. A bolt magnet. A _witch_. Or do you believe it to be . . . human?" he added with a sneer, spitting at the crumpled form lying before him.

"More so than you," Dovator replied, immediately realizing that his mouth was about to get him into trouble again. It was a bad habit of his, speaking before he thought out the consequences. And in his line of work, even the smallest thing had consequences.

The fat man's eyes bulged out and his face turned bright red, his entire mass shaking with rage. "I give you such a wonderful gift, and you repay me with such heretical words? I had heard your views were radical, but this. . ." He gestured toward his gift, lying unconscious near Dovator's feet. "This is going too far. Emperor damn your soul!" he howled, reaching for his laspistol.

The man was fast. Dovator was faster.

* * *

The console flickered briefly and went out with a loud _crack_ that filled the room with smoke and showered sparks on the man lying underneath it. He cursed as he removed the damaged components from the underside of the console. "When will they learn," he muttered to himself. "Outdated technology won't save the Imperium." Carefully, he replaced each component he removed with a newer one, each lovingly crafted or modified. _If those fools on Mars could see me now_, the man thought to himself, a smile spreading across his grease-stained face. It had been at least a decade since he had last set foot anywhere near an Adeptus Mechanicus outpost. His ideas for improvement of existing technology had been called "blasphemous," sins against the great Machine God, offensive to the sacred Machine Spirit. He had refused to follow the proper rituals that had been passed down for centuries, tried to prove that they were nothing but the result of years of ignorance. The tech priests didn't take kindly to his accusations. They had given him an option – cease his heresy or die. He chose to run. 

"Weiss!" a voice shouted from the other side of the ship. Weiss had heard that tone before. Dovator was in a hurry, and that was never a good thing. The tech adept sat up quickly, forgetting that he was underneath the console. He swore loudly as his forehead met its metal casing.

"Yeah?" Weiss called back as he exited the engine room, rubbing his head. He was fortunate to have found Dovator. Any other Inquisitor would have had him executed for speaking in such a tone. Dovator chose to keep a retinue of close friends rather than fearful servants. He strongly believed in giving people a reason to be loyal, rather than forcing them into it. Weiss had concluded that Dovator's attitude was what had kept them together the past five years. Neither one of them conformed to, or had much love for, the debased standard the Imperium had set for the human race. Blind faith over human values is more evil than Chaos, Dovator had once told him. And from what he had seen over the years, Weiss knew that this was a fair assessment.

"Get us out of here," Dovator ordered. Weiss grinned knowingly as he headed for the bridge.

"How did your meeting with the High Inquisitor go?" Weiss asked as he settled into the pilot's seat and began pressing the activation runes. He always found it amusing how much faster he could get a ship off the ground compared to a tech priest. While they were busy anointing the consoles and filling the bridge with incense, he was activating ship systems.

"We had a small. . . disagreement," the Inquisitor replied as he entered the bridge. Weiss turned around and studied him, still grinning.

"You shot him, didn't you?"

Dovator was silent for a moment. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his graying hair. It was another one of his habits. Weiss had learned that it meant the Inquisitor had gone and done something stupid. And that usually meant trouble wouldn't be far behind. Dovator sighed as he placed his hat back on his head. "Yeah," he muttered.

"Figures," Weiss replied with a laugh as he manipulated the controls, taking the ship up through the atmosphere. He was used to it by now. Dovator had an uncanny ability to find trouble more often than it found him. The ship shook violently for a moment as they broke through the upper layers of the atmosphere and pulled away from the planet's gravity. Weiss pressed a sequence of runes on the console, laying in a course to rendezvous with the other two members of their group.

"Come with me," Dovator said, turning to leave the bridge. "There's something you should see."

* * *

She moaned softly as she regained consciousness. Gradually, the fog that seemed to envelop her mind lifted. She opened her eyes, blinking to clear her vision. Cold metal bulkheads surrounded her. She sat up slowly. A heavy blanket had been carefully wrapped around her almost naked body. There was a doorway across from where she sat, perhaps five feet away. She rubbed her eyes with shaking hands and rose to her feet, pulling the blanket tightly around herself for warmth. The sound of metal on metal echoed through the room as the bolt on the door was drawn back. She glanced around nervously, pressing herself against the far wall. The door swung open and two men entered the room. She recognized the first man - the image of his blue eyes, graying hair and wide brimmed hat were still fresh in her mind. She was his now. 

"My Lord," she whispered as he approached, quickly averting her eyes. Silently, she berated herself for speaking without first being spoken to. Her previous master, Inquisitor Braxxus, had often reminded her she was to remain silent, usually through flagellation. She had learned that such punishment was required to save her immortal soul. Many times, she had whipped herself until her skin broke and the blood flowed freely. The pain would serve as a powerful reminder to avoid making the same mistake twice. Yet here she was, speaking out of turn once again.

"Please forgive me for speaking," she mumbled, falling to her knees before her master. His forgiveness, coupled with the pain she would inflict upon herself would absolve her of this indiscretion. She bowed low, forehead to the cold metal floor.

The other man stared at her for a moment with a bewildered expression on his face. Gradually, his surprise turned to amusement and he grinned widely. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "So this is what they're giving out as gifts nowadays."

"You wouldn't be smiling if you had seen the 'demonstration,'" the first replied, disgust in his voice. His name was Dovator. She remembered High Inquisitor Braxxus calling him that when they met. "And I certainly don't want to see anything like it again."

She raised her head slowly, and allowed her eyes to meet Dovator's. "Do you disapprove of me, my Lord?" she whispered, immediately fearing she may have offended him. It was not her place to ask questions. _When will I ever learn?_ She lowered her head again and pulled her blanket tighter, making a mental note to double her number of lashings.

"No," he replied, much to her surprise. "I disapprove of what you've been forced to endure." He crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly to one side as he considered the situation. Nodding slowly to himself, Dovator spoke again. "You've been bound to me for life right?"

"Yes, my Lord. You and Lord Braxxus."

"Just me now," Dovator said. He thought for a moment longer, then continued. "I guess there's really only one way I can make sure you're free," Dovator said as he drew his pistol. "Stand up." The woman rose to her feet slowly, her eyes widening with fear at the sight of the weapon. 'Just me now' he had said. Dovator had killed Lord Braxxus, she was certain of it. And now he would kill her too.

_You will remain silent_, she told herself. _The Emperor has judged you. Accept your fate_.

Ignoring the shock on her face, the Inquisitor continued. "We'll just have to make sure you outlive me. And the first step is to make sure you can defend yourself properly." He spun the pistol on his finger, holding the grip out for the terrified woman to take. "I don't want you to be afraid," he said as she took the weapon from him with trembling hands. "You're safe as long as you're with me."

"Thank you, my Lord," the woman mumbled, staring at the pistol clutched to her chest. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts. None of this made sense to her. She was his property; a servant whose sole purpose was to please her master. And yet his behaviour seemed to indicate otherwise. It was as if he were treating her as an equal.

"And stop calling me 'my Lord,'" Dovator added. The woman's confusion increased. Inquisitor Braxxus had always demanded she refer to him as her 'Lord', but now this man instructed her to cease using the title.

"What's your name?" the other man, who had stood silently until now, asked.

"My . . . name?" the woman repeated, meeting the man's gaze. She closed her eyes and thought hard, sifting through years of memories. _It's been so long since anyone cared what my name was. And why should my name matter anyway? I'm a tool, a piece of war gear. I'm not a person. . ._

"I'm sure it'll come to you." The man smiled reassuringly, seeing the confusion on her face. "I'm Weiss. Used to be working with the Tech priests on Mars, but we had a difference of opinion."

"A tech adept?" the woman's face revealed her surprise and interest. Again she cursed herself for speaking out of turn. These men didn't seem to mind, however, so she decided to take advantage of the opportunity. "But you haven't got any implants or –"

"You mean I don't look like a damned servitor?" Weiss laughed. "You can't fix the machine if you are the machine."

The woman's brow furrowed and she stood silently for a moment. Somehow, that made sense to her. At the same time, it was against the teachings of the Machine Cult. Granted, she was no expert on such things, but from what she knew of Mars and the Tech priests, machinery was sacred – a gift.

Her mind drifted back to his original question. _My name_. If these men preferred to call her by name, who was she to deny them that right? "Sara," she blurted out suddenly. "I remember now. My name . . . it's Sara."

Dovator nodded. "Welcome aboard, Sara."


	2. Chapter 2

He pressed his back against the ruined rockcrete wall, slowly sinking to a crouching position. He was breathing hard, but years of training and experience had taught him how to perform even the noisiest actions in complete silence. The man wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty sleeve. It had been about a week since Dovator had sent him to this planet, lightly armed and dressed as a civilian. He was a soldier, formerly a Lieutenant in the Imperial Guard. He was used to relying on big guns and carapace armour. Now he had neither, and it was his job to hunt down a known and dangerous cult leader, and execute him for crimes against the Imperium. The man ran his hand slowly down the side of his face, feeling the beginnings of a beard. He smiled to himself, remembering his years in the Guard. Back then, a beard would have been out of the question. Yet somehow, deep down, he almost missed the iron discipline the senior officers enforced. The man unclipped a water flask from his belt and took a sip, exhaling slowly. His search had come to an end an hour ago. He had found the location of the cult. And from what he had seen as he picked his way through the ruins, it had more than its fair share of members. The man slid along the wall to his right and peered around the corner. Within a few seconds he had taken in all points of interest. He mentally noted each pile of rubble large enough to conceal a man, every crumbling building that provided a clear line of fire to his position. He studied the area carefully, searching for any signs of an ambush. Raising his left hand, the man signalled the area was clear.

A woman emerged from a pile of rubble nearby and quickly made her way to the man's position. She was tall, but she moved with a grace that the man had always found impressive. He studied her carefully as she approached, winding her way through the debris. She sat on the ground beside him and turned to face him with a warm smile on her face. "Nicely done, Kraken," she whispered, nodding her head in approval. "I never would have picked you out for the stealthy type."

Kraken smiled. He had met Lucia two years ago, when Dovator had rescued her from a backwater planet in the Segmentum Obscurus. She had been branded a witch and convicted of heresy due to her growing psychic powers. Through what Weiss liked to call "sheer dumb luck," Dovator managed to convince the townspeople, who had unfortunately never seen an Inquisitor before, that he was a loyal and trusted servant of the God Emperor. He explained to them that for reasons only the Emperor could truly understand, the woman should be left in his charge rather than burned at the stake. Dovator had insisted that everything went smoothly, but knowing him as well as he did, Kraken still had his doubts.

"You know. . . this would be a lot easier if you'd use one of those great powers of yours," Kraken muttered, holding his water flask out for Lucia to take.

"We've gone over this already," she replied, taking the flask. "The Warp is unstable right now. If I try anything. . ." She shrugged. "Who knows what could happen?"

Kraken considered this for a moment, nodding his head slowly. "So basically, instead of just dealing with a psychotic cult leader, I'd be stuck dealing with a psychotic cult leader _and_ whatever unholy, Warp spawned beast decided to crawl out of your ass. Right?"

"Funny," Lucia replied, rolling her eyes. "Shouldn't we get going? Dovator's probably on his way to get us right now."

Kraken nodded. "I wish he'd hurry up about it. I could use some armour," Kraken complained, gesturing at his clothing. He raised his pistol. "A bigger gun wouldn't hurt either."

"Is that all you think about? Big guns?"

"That," Kraken grinned, "and you naked."

Lucia let out a soft chuckle. "I hope you've got a good imagination, because that's something you'll never actually see."

"Funny," Kraken grunted as he rose to his feet. "Alright, let's go."

* * *

Dovator lay on his cot, staring at the bulkhead that formed the ceiling of his quarters. He let his mind drift to the events that had taken place earlier. As an Inquisitor, he had seen his share of interesting individuals, complete with unique abilities. But this woman, Sara, was something else. He still couldn't believe what she was capable of. It was the ultimate protection, but at the same time, for someone with a conscience, it was almost like torture. Dovator knew that no matter how much he wanted to protect her, there would be times that he would be forced to watch her endure his pain. 

He sighed loudly, putting his arms behind his head. _No sense in worrying about what you can't control_, Dovator told himself, though he didn't really believe it. Pushing the thoughts from his mind, the Inquisitor realized just how bored he actually was. Space travel had always made him feel this way. Focussing on the bolts in the bulkhead above him, Dovator began to count, determined to find out exactly how many held his ceiling together.

"1 . . . 2 . . ."

It was one of his favourite pass times, yet he had never actually managed to count them all. There was always something that had to be done. Always some interruption.

"16 . . . 17 . . ."

He could never understand why. Sometimes, he would sit in his quarters for hours at a time without being disturbed, yet as soon as he decided to start counting. . .

"Hope you weren't sleeping," Weiss's voice crackled over the comm. "I've got an urgent message here for you. Want me to send it to your screen?"

"Yeah," Dovator sighed, sitting up. "Put it through."

The monitor on his desk flashed to life and text began to fill the screen:

PRIORITY ALPHA

TO: INQUISITOR ALEXI DOVATOR

FROM: COLONEL JOHN BORGLYN

RE: GAEA PRIME

THOUGHT: HERESY BEGETS RETRIBUTION

You know how much I hate sending transmissions, so forgive the bluntness of this message. One month ago, I received reports that Chaos had tainted the governor and several other officials of Gaea Prime. The Planetary Defence Force was divided in their loyalty and a civil war broke out. Two days ago, a request for reinforcements was received. I am on my way to Gaea Prime as you read this. I know you well enough to expect your arrival. You have three weeks before military action begins. Emperor protects.

END TRANSMISSION

Dovator stared at the screen in disbelief. He read the message over again, certain that he had misunderstood what Borglyn was telling him. Gradually, the Inquisitor's shock turned to anger. Gaea Prime was his home. He and Borglyn had grown up together on that planet, away from any of the major conflicts that plagued the Imperium. It had always been a peaceful world, of little strategic importance to enemies of humanity. Now it was a war zone, and Dovator would stop at nothing to see it liberated.

* * *

Kraken stalked silently through the ruins, his attention split between his objective and Lucia. He had left her behind a nearby boulder several minutes ago. The area was crawling with sentries and Kraken knew he would have an easier time navigating the ruins alone. As sensible as his plan had seemed at the time, it gradually began to seem more and more foolish. Lucia was no soldier. If she was spotted, she wouldn't stand a chance. He would have to go back for her. 

Footsteps. The veteran ducked behind nearby cover and waited. Moments later, a cultist limped passed his hiding place. The man was disfigured – "gifts" from his god had turned much of his body into a sick, twisted parody of the human form. The cultist's face was covered in puss filled boils; his left leg a rotting lump of flesh. Kraken stared in disbelieve for a moment, unable to comprehend what would drive a man to sell his soul for such afflictions.

Regaining his focus on the task at hand, Kraken slowly drew his combat knife from its sheath, hidden under his jacket. He moved quickly, grabbing the cultist by the shoulder and plunging his knife deep into the man's neck. Flailing wildly for a moment, the man attempted to escape his attacker. Kraken held him tightly, slowly lowering the cultist to the ground as the struggling subsided. The man gurgled softly, arms and legs twitching as the life left his body. Quickly, Kraken dragged the cultist's body into the rubble, hiding it from view.

"Imperial dog!" a voice came from behind him.

Kraken spun around to face the source of the voice, drawing his laspistol. Standing several metres away was the cult leader he had been searching for, and held tightly in front of him, as a human shield, stood a struggling Lucia. "Let her go," Kraken growled, unable to hide his anger.

"I think I'll hold on to her for a bit," the cult leader replied, a sick smile spreading across his twisted face. He pressed his pistol firmly against Lucia's temple and leaned his head over her shoulder, licking her cheek with an impossibly long, boil covered tongue. "Yes. . . she's quite a catch," he mumbled to himself, chuckling softly.

Kraken advanced slowly toward the cult leader while he was distracted with his prize. His mission had suddenly become more difficult. He and Lucia were close. In his mind, her safety was more important than the execution of the cult leader. _A soldier isn't supposed to feel_, Kraken told himself, struggling to remain focussed on his target.

"Don't move!"

Several sentries had emerged from nearby piles of rubble, each more grotesque than the last. Kraken froze, glancing around quickly. He counted five of them in total, too many for him to take on by himself. Two of the cultists were armed with lasguns, the other three with an assortment of pistols and rusted hand weapons. Kraken knew he would only get one shot. He could still accomplish his mission.

"Let her go," Kraken repeated, calmer this time.

The cult leader brought his attention back to Kraken. He gestured toward the veteran with his pistol, taunting him. "You're in no position to be making demands," the man sneered. "But I am," he continued, making no effort to hide the excitement the current situation made him feel. It had been so long since an attempt had been made on his life. And now, here was an attempt and he, not his would-be assassin, was in complete control. "On your knees and perhaps you will receive a quick death."

"I'd prefer to just kill you where you stand," Kraken growled. He could see the cult leader's growing confidence, and with it his chance to end this stalemate. _Keep grinning, you sick bastard_, Kraken thought to himself. _I'll wipe that smile off your face soon enough._

"You won't shoot me," the cult leader replied confidently, tightening his grip on Lucia. He knew this woman was the perfect shield - he would be untouchable as long as he stood behind her. And once this situation was resolved, he could have his way with her. The man's mouth watered at the thought and he grinned widely. "Yes. . . you wouldn't risk it, not as long as I'm holding on to your friend."

"Wrong," Kraken replied coolly, tightening his grip on the trigger.


	3. Chapter 3

Lucia hated everything about the man holding her. The smell of his rotting flesh burned her nostrils. His impossibly tight grip, restricting her movement, infuriated her. And the way he kept sniffing at her hair and licking the side of her face made her sick to her stomach. The psyker could see Kraken a few metres in front of her, determined to complete his mission, even if it cost him his life. She could count five cultists, all armed, and knew that all it would take is one lucky shot, and the unarmoured Kraken would be dead.

There was no choice now, Lucia realized. She would have to take her chances and use her powers. She could still remember the first time she had used them. It was two years ago, on her home world. She had just returned to her village after spending the day out in the country side. The sun had set a while ago, but the lanterns that lined the main road had not yet been lit. A man had come out of the shadows and grabbed her from behind, dragging her into a nearby alley. Lucia had tried to scream for help, but the man had covered her mouth with his hand as he forced himself on her. And then it had happened. Lucia had reached out with her mind, and she was able to see _inside_ her attacker – every organ, every vital system – almost as if he had been split open in front of her. The amount of control she had over the man's body had scared her, yet at the same time the power she wielded excited her.

But the attack was only the start of her problems. There had been witnesses to the struggle and Lucia had been branded a witch. After a biassed trial, she had been sentenced to death by "purifying fire." Lucia had pleaded with the villagers, trying to explain the situation. She begged them to show leniency. But they refused to listen. They had said that Lucia had orchestrated the whole thing, that she had bewitched the man and forced him to attack her.

If it hadn't been for Dovator, she would have been burned at the stake the next morning. He never did tell her why he had come to her village in the first place, or what had happened during his meeting with the village elders. Knowing Dovator as she did now, Lucia could imagine any number of insults that the Inquisitor may have uttered during his attempt to resolve the situation diplomatically. The end result had been the two of them running through the woods toward his ship with an angry mob following them. Lucia still remembered the look on their faces when they entered the clearing and saw his ship. They had stopped in their tracks, dumbstruck, and ran for cover as the engines ignited. Since then, Lucia had been in Dovator's service. He had taught her about her powers, showed her how to control them. And now, after all this time, she would use them again to kill. But this time, there would be no trial. This time, she would not be branded a witch for using her powers – she would be fulfilling her duty as a servant of the God Emperor.

Lucia could see Kraken's grip tightening on the trigger. He had seen his opportunity and was going to take the shot. The psyker readied herself, knowing that she would only have a few seconds to kill the other cultists before they opened fire. There was a sharp _crack_ as the weapon discharged, immediately followed by a _hiss_ and the smell of burning flesh as the laser beam found its target. The cult leader's grip loosened as he staggered backward in shock, a hole burnt through his forehead. And then Lucia struck.

She reached out with her mind, letting it penetrate deep into the Warp, drawing upon the raw emotional energy it contained. Lucia knew the Warp was very unpredictable, and she could feel it now, changing like the wind, flowing around her. As a psyker, she was a shining beacon in the Immaterium, drawing all manner of malign entities to her. Lucia steeled herself, knowing that any one of these Emperor forsaken creatures could consume her vulnerable soul. She would be lost forever, her body nothing more than a host for the Great Enemy to use as it pleased. Already, she could feel them clawing at her mind, eager to claim her as a prize. She had to hurry.

Lucia focussed her thoughts, pulling the Warp energies toward her, bending them to her will. She could hear whispers now. The voices of countless billions of souls, some tormented, others the tormentors. They spoke directly to her, begging, taunting, confusing. Pushing passed the voices like Dovator had taught her, Lucia could see inside the cultists. She let her mind wander across their bodies, watching the energy she had gathered flow around them, puncturing organs, blocking arteries, severing tendons. It was all over before anyone could react. The cultists collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain as the life left their bodies. Kraken stared at them, shocked at what he was seeing. He had never before witnessed the destructive force of Lucia's powers. Slowly, he brought his focus back to the psyker standing before him, studying her intently with a mixture of horror and admiration.

"I thought you said it was too dangerous for you to use your powers?" Kraken asked, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

Lucia stared back at him, visibly shaken. "I had no choice," she snapped. "I couldn't let you – " She looked away from Kraken, forcing herself to remain calm.

The grin faded from the lieutenant's face. "Couldn't let me what?" he asked, confused by her sudden outburst.

"I couldn't let you have all the fun," the psyker replied quickly, forcing a smile. "Dovator's probably waiting for us. We should get back." She turned her back on Kraken and began to make her way through the ruins.

"Yeah," Kraken replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

* * *

Dovator stared at his screen, lost in thought. _How could this have happened?_ He asked himself, knowing full well that Chaos and Heresy can not be explained. He remembered what he had been told years ago, when he had first joined the Ordo Malleus – the Daemonhunters. Heresy had been likened to a tree: it had to be destroyed leaf, branch, trunk, and root, or it would continue to grow and gain strength, until one day, it would become impossible to stop. The Inquisitor had always found that analogy interesting, but as he gained experience in battling the forces of Chaos, he realised that it was lacking. A ravenous disease was a better fit, eating away at the Imperium from within, corrupting those with power and preventing man from realising his full potential. Perhaps he, Alexi Dovator, would be the one to unlock the shackles binding humanity and turn the tide in this never ending war. Perhaps he would be the one to find a way to eradicate the Great Enemy once and for all and deliver the Imperium into a Golden Age. 

The door chime sounded softly, bringing the Inquisitor back to reality. _Careful_, he warned himself, clearing his mind quickly. Too many good souls have been lost for dreaming the same dream, consumed by the manipulative gods of Chaos who whisper promise after promise and reward servitude with eternal damnation. The chime sounded again.

"Come in." The door slid open and Sara stepped into the room. She stopped just inside the door and bowed her head, looking down at her feet. Dovator stared at her, waiting for her to say or do something – anything – but she continued to stand motionless. Gradually, he began to realise that she would stand there until he told her to sit or speak. Despite his attempts to make her feel safe and free while under his care, she still behaved like a slave.

"Have a seat," Dovator gestured to a nearby chair.

"Thank you," she replied, finally making eye contact with him. She went to the chair and sat down slowly, careful not to damage any of the parchment wrapped around her body. Dovator studied her intently, realising for the first time how beautiful she was. Without the parchment and scars caused by purifying rituals, her skin would have been flawless. Her body was perfect, like something out of a dream. The Inquisitor found himself wondering what it would feel like to reach out and touch her. Perhaps he could do more than just touch. After all, she would do whatever he asked.

_What the hell is wrong with you_, Dovator reprimanded himself, disgusted at his loss of control. He had promised her protection for as long as he lived. What kind of man would it make him to use his power over her for something like that? He would be no better than the Inquisitor he had killed to save her. Almost immediately, his thoughts returned to the current problem: his home. _How could this have happened?_ He asked himself again.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked, gathering the courage to speak unbidden.

Dovator was shocked. This was the first time she had spoken without having been asked a direct question. But even more surprising to him was that she knew something was bothering him. Perhaps their link allowed her to feel what he was feeling.

"Don't tell me you can sense the way I feel?" the Inquisitor asked, intrigued by the idea but more than a little worried given his recent lapse in focus.

"Oh, no," Sara replied, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Nothing like that. It's just that you –" She broke off. It had been a long time since she had been allowed to express her own thoughts. In fact, she had rarely been given the opportunity to speak at all in recent years. Inquisitor Braxxus had always said that witches should not be allowed to open their mouths. He had said that every word uttered by a witch was twisted and evil. So she had forced herself to remain silent while in his service, fearing that she would anger him. Finding the correct words to use now was proving to be more difficult than she imagined.

"I can see it in your eyes," she said at last, liking the sound of the words.

Dovator frowned. He was slipping. Years ago, his face would have been like a stone, hard and emotionless no matter what he was feeling inside. But now, he was being read like a book by this woman. The Inquisitor may have accepted being read by a trained psyker, or perhaps even an expert on human behaviour. But this woman was neither, and she had picked up on his feelings. No matter. At least now he had someone to talk to. But where to begin?

"Look at this," Dovator turned his screen so Sara could see it. She leaned forward intently, eager to learn what it was that was bothering the Inquisitor. After reading it twice, just as Dovator had done, she looked back to him.

"I'm so sorry," Sara said softly, knowing that nothing she said to comfort him would lessen the pain he was feeling. She sat silently for a moment and then, remembering that talking about her problems had always made her feel better, added: "Tell me about your world."

Dovator was pleased that she had asked. He leaned back in his chair and breathed deeply closing his eyes. At length, he began to speak.

"Gaea Prime is an agri-world," he said slowly, focussing his thoughts. "One large landmass covers roughly half the planet and the rest is the bluest ocean you'll ever see. I lived pretty far in land, so I've only seen it a few times myself, but it's a sight that I'll remember for a long time. Sunset is the best because then it sparkles like diamonds." Dovator allowed himself a smile before continuing.

"Most of the land is covered in crop fields, each tended to by a small village of a couple hundred people. There are a few larger cities here and there, but even there the population is only a few thousand. That's where all the self-proclaimed important people live: the governor, his advisors, representatives and every other pompous jackass who orders people around to prove that he's the single most important person on the planet.

"John Borglyn and me, we grew up together in one of the villages near the capitol. We were inseparable. Used to get into plenty of trouble. It was usually John's fault, though," the Inquisitor laughed. "I remember this one time, me and John were caught imitating the governor during one of his live planetary broadcasts. John had somehow ended up on the vid feed, strutting around with his nose in the air. He was wearing this really ugly, colourful suit, proclaiming himself governor of Gaea Prime. We were grounded for a few months for that one." Dovator laughed again as he relived the moment in his mind. It had been a long time since he had had reason to laugh. So much had happened since then, and most of it had taken the joy out of life.

Suddenly, Dovator was serious again. "We were in our twenties when we both decided to join the Guard. We went through basic training together with Gaea Prime's PDF, but then we kind of drifted apart. John was into the whole 'Duty and Honour' propaganda that was constantly being shoved down our throats. He dreamed of being out there on the front lines, a hero in the making. I took an interest in the more covert approach to fighting Chaos. I had heard stories about Inquisitors and the secret war they're constantly fighting to protect the Imperium from the threats inside and out. There's irony for you. A corrupt secret organization fighting to protect a corrupt empire from corruption."

The Inquisitor paused for a moment, remembering what he had gone through to achieve his title. Only the greatest men in the Imperium could rise to the ranks of Inquisitor. It was essential that the candidate be pure in spirit and unwavering in his dedication to the Imperial Creed. Any blemish, no matter how small, left the door wide open for the influences of Chaos. And yet, even with such a strict screening process and years of rigorous training and testing, many Inquisitors were manipulated by the Dark Gods, corrupted to the point where they ceased to be human. Often, several Inquisitors would share the same misguided beliefs and band together. As a result, several factions existed within the Inquisition. Some, like the Thorians, believed that only by resurrecting the Emperor would the Imperium be saved. Of course that also meant creating the perfect person as a host; a person of infallible character into whom the Emperor's soul could be reborn. It also meant manipulating the Warp, xeno technology, and anything else that was thought to have ties to psychic energy in an attempt to coax the Emperor's soul from the Immaterium and into the host body.

Others, such as the Monodominants, are arrogant enough to believe it is the manifest destiny of man to rule the galaxy. Any and all mutants, xeno, or "non-believers" should be stamped out like a plague. Any attempts to form alliances or trade agreements with other species was considered Heresy and punishable by death. Sometimes, whole planets were destroyed. "Preventative measures" to ensure any taint would not spread.

And still others embrace Chaos completely, believing they can use it's power for the betterment of the Imperium. These radicals operate in secret and if they are found out, the other, "puritan," factions declare them traitors and hunt them down. So many factions, but which was right? Dovator had asked himself the same question many times before, and always he had come to the same answer: none of them.

"We're entering orbit now," Weiss's voice, startled the Inquisitor from his thoughts. "I'm taking us down. Kraken had better be finished with that cult leader. I hate having to wait for him."

Dovator activated the comm on his end. "I'm sure we'll be waiting for him." Kraken had never been good at getting things done on time, but that never mattered to the Inquisitor. The fact that the man got things done at all was a miracle, given their dangerous line of work. "I'll meet you on the bridge in a few minutes."

The Inquisitor turned his eyes back to Sara, still seated across from him. She looked back at him, waiting to be told what to do. Dovator smiled and rose to his feet, gesturing toward the door. "After you," he said. And then, remembering her nakedness, added: "We should probably find you something to wear first."

* * *

Kraken and Lucia had been walking in silence since they had disposed of the cult leader and his followers. She was ahead of him, walking quickly, and he knew better than to try talking to her. She was clearly upset, and Kraken was terrible at handling such delicate situations. He kept as close as possible, scanning the surrounding area for any signs of danger, but did his best to give her space. 

The veteran let his mind wander back to Lucia's impressive display earlier. As much as he respected her for her abilities, actually seeing them put to use scared him. Kraken knew he was just being foolish – she was the same woman she was yesterday. Yet at the same time, she was different and most certainly dangerous. But what bothered him more than her powers was her behaviour afterward. Perhaps she was just upset at having to use them to cause so much pain and death. Somehow Kraken doubted that. There was something more. The way she spoke to him, it almost seemed as if she was worried. As if she cared for him. The former Lieutenant dismissed the thought immediately. _I should be so lucky_, he said to himself. _A woman like that? Not a chance._

Physically, Lucia wasn't much to look at. But she had a smile that could melt even the coldest heart, and a personality to match. From the very first day he had met her, Kraken had took a liking to her and had done his best to keep her out of harms way. _Maybe that's it_, the veteran thought. _That's what's changed. She just proved that she can take care of herself a lot better than I can._

Rounding the corner, Kraken could see Dovator's ship. As he got closer, he could see the Inquisitor leaning against the hull lost in thought. Weiss was standing on the ramp, talking to a robed woman he did not recognize. "Who'd you shoot?" Kraken called out to Dovator as he got closer, gesturing toward Sara. He could tell from her appearance that she had been a slave until recently and, given the Inquisitor's knack for putting himself in harm's way, the question was warranted.

"High Inquisitor Braxxus," Dovator replied without looking up.

"A High Inquisitor?" Kraken whistled. "Raising the stakes, huh? Keep it up and you'll be in shit so deep not even the Emperor Himself could dig you out."

"You think I don't know that?" Dovator snapped. He opened his mouth to say more but decided against it. Shaking his head, he turned and stormed off into the ship.

Kraken was dumbstruck. He and the Inqusitor always had light hearted exchanges after either of them had done something foolish. Never, in all the time Kraken had known him, had Dovator exploded like this, even when the repercussions for his actions were severe.

"What's got him all worked up?" Kraken asked, still puzzled by the sudden outburst.

"His home world," Sara replied, her voice almost a whisper. She glanced up the ramp uneasily before continuing. "It's been tainted by the Great Enemy."

The other three couldn't believe their ears. Lucia and Weiss stared blankly at Sara, stunned to silence. "Shit," was all Kraken could manage.

"Of all places," he muttered once the initial shock had passed. He shook his head in disbelief. "Dovator doesn't deserve this." Then, with a determined look in his eyes, the veteran said, "We'd better get going. We've got a world to save."


	4. Chapter 4

Colonel John Borglyn stood on the bridge of the _Redemption_, staring at the view screen in front of him. His home world, Gaea Prime, was coming into view now. _Appropriate name for a ship, considering the mission_. Three weeks ago, he had sent a message to Inquisitor Alexi Dovator, notifying him of the situation. No response was sent, but Borglyn didn't need one. He knew Dovator would come. And sure enough, a few hours ago, he had received a communique from the Inquisitor, notifying him that Dovator and his crew had entered the system and would meet with him shortly. The two men hadn't seen each other in over twenty years. And now, when they finally had an opportunity to catch up on old times, the circumstances took all the joy out of the occasion. Their world was in danger and it would take the skills of both men to flush out and exterminate the Heretics, one at a time if necessary. _Gaea Prime _will _be cleansed of this cancer_, the Colonel vowed.

"I'll be in my quarters, Captain," Borglyn said. "Hold position above the planet and notify me when Inquisitor Dovator arrives."

"Yes, sir," the captain replied, making the sign of the Aquila.

Borglyn returned the salute and, with one last look at the view screen, turned on his heel, leaving the bridge. Behind him, he could hear the captain repeating his order to hold position. _Bureaucracy_, the Colonel thought with a weak smile. The Imperial Guard and Imperial Navy were two separate organizations. In the aftermath of the Horus Heresy, it was decided that no fighting force should ever have the opportunity to wield unparalleled power. As a result, the same move that saw the legions of the Adeptus Astartes split into chapters also stripped the Imperial Army of the Great Crusades of its fleet, ensuring that no military commander had control over both a regiment of fighting men and an interstellar fleet of transports and warships. Now, these vessels were the property of the Imperial Navy. And unless the ship's captain agreed with a Guard commander's orders, they would be completely ignored.

The Colonel turned the corner and made his way down a long corridor. His mind drifted back to the last time he had seen Alexi Dovator. They had just completed basic training with Gaea Prime's PDF and the time had come for a tithe to be sent to join the Imperial Guard. Realizing that this was his chance for glory, Borglyn volunteered. During training, the two men had drifted apart. They spoke occasionally, but differences of opinion usually turned their discussions into arguments. When Borglyn informed Dovator of his decision, Dovator was outraged. He insisted that there was no glory to be had fighting on the front lines, that it was all propaganda spread by the Imperial Guard to keep people from panicking. His words only fueled Borglyn's determination and he boarded the transport without looking back. And now, twenty-four years later, Borglyn knew that Dovator was right. There was no glory, only death and destruction. But even so, Borglyn knew he had to continue fighting. Without the billions of men prepared to lay down their lives in the Emperor's name, the Imperium of Man would be consumed.

Unconsciously, he stretched his arm out, letting his hand trace a path along the metal bulkhead to his right. It was cold to the touch and wrenched his mind back to the task at hand. This was war. The Imperium could never rest as long as enemies threatened to destroy everything the Emperor had built. Borglyn knew that this ship would rain death upon his world if he failed to restore order. _The death of one world to protect the countless others in the Imperium_. As much as he hated the thought, Borglyn understood that it was the only way. Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made. Sometimes, whole worlds needed to die to safeguard the Imperium of Man. _Why should this time be any different?_ Borglyn asked himself. The answer came immediately: _Because this time it's home.

* * *

_

Sara stood behind Weiss, her mouth open in stunned silence. Ahead of them loomed the _Redemption_, holding position in low orbit over Gaea Prime. They had just been given permission to dock, and Weiss was guiding their transport toward the port docking bay. He approached the warship abeam, allowing Sara to take in its full length.

"It's huge!" she exclaimed. She had never seen an Imperial vessel from the outside before. It seemed unreal to her that something so large could be constructed, let alone sail through space. And yet, here it was, standing sentinel above a world. The design of the ship intrigued her. It looked cold and harsh with its tall spires and armoured prow. But at the same time, something about it seemed familiar, even welcoming. It was as if her understanding of the Imperium were given form. The vessel was a thing of beauty forced to adopt a hideous exterior to protect its vulnerable crew in much the same way the Imperium was forced to take drastic measures to ensure the safety of its citizens.

Weiss chuckled. "I've seen bigger." He pressed a series of runes on the console in front of him, instructing the machine spirit to begin the docking sequence. Pressing a few more runes, he activated the comm. "We're docking now."

Sara had seen Tech priests manipulate machinery before, but never like this. There was always ceremony involved: incantations were spoken before each rune was pressed, incense was burned to appease the machine spirit. But Weiss was doing neither and their transport seemed to be doing exactly what he wanted. _He must have prayed earlier_, she decided.

As Sara watched in awe, the gap between the two ships closed rapidly. She could make out details now, and they only served to reinforce her feelings about the vessel. It's hull was scarred from countless engagements over the millennia. Patchwork repairs were clearly visible; metal plates were welded to the hull, sealing breaches. Each blemish stood out against the subtle beauty of the warship like a medal pinned on the front of a soldier's jacket. To some, each battle honour served only as a reminder that the bearer was old, battle-worn, and outdated. But for Sara, they helped make the _Redemption_ even more of an inspiring sight.

Ahead of them, a heavy metal door set in the side of the _Redemption_ slid open, revealing the docking bay. Fighters and interceptors lined the bay walls, each bearing their own unique battle scars. Red warning lights bathed the whole bay in an eerie glow that made Sara's breath catch in her throat. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. The shadows cast by the fighters seemed to dance along the floor and the walls, competing for attention. Sara examined them in turn, finding each more impressive than the last. Inquisitor Braxxus had told her about the manifest destiny of man once. Seeing the _Redemption_ and it's fleet of fighters, and knowing it was only one ship of many, was enough to convince her that man truly was destined to rule the stars. With ships such as these, how could the Imperium not?

The transport slid into the opening, retrorockets firing. It turned slowly, moving passed the nearby fighters, the machine spirit seeking an appropriate landing zone. Landing gear deployed with a metallic _clang_ as the transport finally came to shuddering stop at the far end of the drop bay. It descended slowly, landing gear compressing slightly under its weight, and finally came to rest.

* * *

Dovator waited silently by the rear ramp of the transport, leaning against one of the bulkheads with his arms folded across his chest. Kraken and Lucia stood nearby, engaged in conversation. Ever since they had met, Dovator had never seen the two of them apart. Sometimes, the Inquisitor forgot that they were two people. The thought worried him. That kind of attachment, he knew, was a weakness that could be exploited by the Enemy. But at the same time, Dovator knew that he was just as guilty of attachment, especially now. And, he had to admit, Kraken and Lucia did work well together. 

Dovator remembered the day he met Kraken. Eight years ago, he had gone to Cadia, a fortress world guarding the entrance to the Eye of Terror. The Inquisitor knew that the men and women of this world were raised from birth as soldiers. Disciplined and stalwart, they were the perfect candidates for an Inquisitorial retinue. But Dovator was looking for more than that. He was searching for individuals he could trust with his life, not because they felt obligated to protect him, but because they _wanted_ to. The Inquisitor sought a retinue that would respect him as a man, a retinue that shared his ideals. As far as he was concerned, it was the only way to guarantee loyalty.

When the Inquisitor disembarked from his shuttle, Lieutenant Kraken was there waiting for him. The young officer saluted him crisply, proud to have been assigned as Dovator's guide. One look at Kraken, and the Inquisitor knew; this was the man he had come to Cadia to find. Dovator remained on the world for several weeks, meeting with officers and troopers alike, but he found no other men or women who stood out to him the way Kraken had. As he prepared to leave the planet, he had asked the Lieutenant to join him. The Inquisitor had spoken openly of his beliefs, certain that Kraken shared them. Kraken was visibly surprised to have been given a chance to speak to an Inquisitor as an equal, and had taken some time to consider his options. Dovator had hoped the Lieutenant would join him, knowing that he would be invaluable. By the time the shuttle lifted off, Kraken was on board, prepared to lay down his life for Dovator and his cause.

Lucia, Dovator preferred not to think about. She reminded him too much of himself, and the horrors he had endured on his path to become an Inquisitor. During his training on Gaea Prime, Dovator discovered what he now knew was a rare and dangerous talent: he was a psyker. He had done his best to keep his abilities hidden, believing that the others on his world would fear and hate him. Dovator's efforts appeared to have been successful. For years, he never shared his secret with anyone, not even his closest friends. There was never the slightest indication that his secret had been uncovered. And yet, they had come. One year after Borglyn left Gaea Prime for the Imperial Guard, the Black Ships arrived. Ten were taken, Dovator among them.

It was a chilling feeling, being held on a ship guarded by psychic nulls. Where he was a beacon in the Warp, they were voids; soulless. Dovator remembered being chained to the cold, steel wall of a small cell, a null collar around his neck, suppressing his abilities. And he remembered the screams. The never-ending wailing that kept him awake for days, fuelling his fear. He heard men and women begging, crying, being dragged away by the guards. Some never returned to their cells. Finally, they had come for him. They removed him from his cell, dragging him down a long corridor to another small, cold room. Now it was Dovator's turn to scream.

"Dovator!" Weiss called again, shaking the Inquisitor. "You alright?"

"What?" Dovator replied, confused. He looked around, seeing the concerned eyes of his crew on him. He flushed, embarrassed at having let his mind wander like that._ How long have they been standing there like that?_ "Yeah," he muttered. "I was just. . . never mind. Let's get going."

The Inquisitor pressed a series of runes on a nearby panel. The mechanism screamed to life, gears grinding as the ramp lowered, meeting the docking bay floor with a resounding _clang_. Dovator adjusted his hat, running his fingers along the brim, and made his way down the ramp. He stopped midway, glancing back to his crew. "Oh, and Weiss?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't touch anything."

* * *

Borglyn walked toward the transport, anxious to see Dovator again for the first time in years. As he approached, his excitement began to wain. The Inquisitor disembarking from the transport was not the man Borglyn remembered. He seemed serious, old, hard; everything that the Dovator of Gaea Prime was not. _Better to play it safe_. The Colonel stopped a few feet in front of the ramp and saluted crisply, holding the salute until the Inquisitor acknowledged it. 

Dovator smiled. "Learned some manners, huh?"

The Colonel relaxed. Despite the Inquisitor's outward appearance, he was very much the man Borglyn remembered. He returned the smile. "The Guard will do that to you." Borglyn stepped forward again and took Dovator's hand, shaking it firmly. "It's good to see you again, Alexi." And then, for old time's sake, he added: "You'd think with all your power and influence, you could have gotten your face fixed. You're still as ugly as I remember."

Dovator laughed and, much to Borglyn's surprise, so did his retinue. "So much for those new found manners." As his laughter faded, the Inquisitor noticed the strange look the Colonel was giving him. Dovator was so used to treating his retinue as equal, he often forgot how unorthodox it was. It was easy to understand why Borglyn would be puzzled by it. "Fear as a method of control can only ever work for so long," the Inquisitor explained. "It also has a negative impact on performance. You can't think straight with that kind of pressure. These people follow me because they _want_ to, not because I've forced them to."

Borglyn nodded slowly, considering what the Inquisitor had said. _Only Alexi would think of something this wild_. He had only ever met a few Inquisitors, and all of them appeared to have a similar attitude when it came to their retinue: reliable and useful servants. Never equal, and almost always replaceable. And yet, somehow, what Dovator said made perfect sense. What better way to guarantee loyalty than to recruit like-minded individuals?

"We should discuss the battle plan," Dovator said, completely serious again.

Borglyn understood. This was their home world hanging in the balance. And both men had fought against the Great Enemy long enough to know that every second wasted allowed Chaos to tighten its death grip. If that happened, all chance of success would be lost. The world would be beyond saving and only one option would remain: Gaea Prime would have to die. Borglyn nodded silently and turned to leave the docking bay. "Follow me."


	5. Chapter 5

Dovator stood in a makeshift interrogation room, arms folded across his chest. Before him stood a small metal table, and behind it a single chair. The room was small and stuffy, formed by sturdy metal bulkheads hastily pulled together. A single lamp hung from the ceiling, its harsh glow illuminating the table and chair. The Inquisitor's eyes were locked on the room's other occupant, an arrogant man leaning against the far wall. Dovator examined the man carefully, mentally noting each pressure point and major artery. A few minutes ago, Dovator had been shouting, threatening the man. This Heretic had important information; the Inquisitor could see it in his eyes. Usually, the threat of pain would be enough. Just the _thought_ of the kind of pain an Inquisitor was capable of inflicting drove all but the most twisted, corrupt men to repent. But this time, it wasn't enough. Dovator had steadily been losing the battle of wills. He was agitated, and it was starting to show. And yet, the Inquisitor knew, this man's resolve was inconsequential compared to the events of the passed week.

Borglyn's plan had been simple and efficient, taking full advantage of Gaea Prime's single landmass. All military personnel would be deployed along the southern edge of the continent and push north toward the capital. Any major cities in their path would be seized in the name of the Emperor and a garrison would be left to defend them. From these strong points, assaults could be launched to reclaim each of the smaller towns. As more and more ground was reclaimed, Borglyn believed the resistance would begin to evaporate and the fighting would become less and less costly. Dovator was confident the Colonel was correct; the people of Gaea Prime were not hardened warriors. And in his heart, he knew that the majority of the population would welcome deliverance. He knew that it was only a corrupt few who would need to be stamped out in order to free the world from the taint of Chaos. He was wrong.

Resistance had been fierce. Every inch gained had been paid for in blood. Gaea Prime's PDF had been upgraded recently, most likely after the world fell to Chaos. They had tanks, fortifications, automated turrets. But more importantly, they had numbers and a twisted sense of justice on their side. They truly believed that the Imperium had abandoned humanity, that by revolting and siding with the forces of Chaos, they could bring about reform. Dovator felt the same way, but he knew where to draw the line. Chaos was not something to be taken lightly. It was no ally, and it could not be wielded for good. It corrupted entirely: mind, body and soul.

Dovator still held on to the hope that the people of his world were not all beyond saving, but as time passed, his hopes began to fade. After an entire week of fighting, the Inquisitor had yet to see a man, woman, or child still loyal to the Emperor. He was in complete shock. How could an entire world, a peaceful world, give itself over to the Great Enemy so completely? The Inquisitor had asked himself that question constantly and yet, he always wondered, did he really want to know the answer? Would knowing lessen the pain he felt? _No_.

The Inquisitor's attention returned to his prisoner. He had been captured recently, during a skirmish. Borglyn's troops were moving into place around the capital, preparing for one final push into the city when they had been attacked. The battle was quick and bloody, and of the attackers only this man had survived.

"Sit," Dovator ordered, his voice calm.

The man stared back at him, an indignant smirk on his face. "I'd rather stand." He crossed his arms firmly, his eyes connecting with the Inquisitor's, mocking him, daring him to take action. The man knew he was winning this battle of wills, and the very thought that he was besting an Inquisitor excited him. He knew he had nothing to fear, that his new masters would protect him from the servants of the False Emperor.

Dovator moved across the room slowly, his eyes still locked on the Heretic. "Sit," he said again, straining to remain calm. Again the man refused. He simply stared at the Inquisitor, grinning. Dovator nodded slowly and took a deep breath, doing his best to remain in control. But it was too late. The fragile calm shattered and was replaced by uncontrollable rage. "Sit!" Dovator bellowed, slamming his fist into the man's stomach.

The Heretic let out a yelp of pain and doubled over, clutching his middle. The Inquisitor grabbed him roughly, hurling him into the nearby chair.

"Tell me what you know! Where are the other Heretics positioned?"

The man straightened up slowly. He was laughing now, eyes once again set on the Inquisitor looming over him. "I will tell you nothing," he said as his laughter subsided. The man's voice was full of confidence and the arrogant smile had returned to his face.

"Fine," Dovator replied, his voice cold and hard. He moved around to the opposite side of the table and produced a small bundle from under his jacket. The Inquisitor placed it on the table, unrolling it slowly, exposing the tools it contained. The man's eyes scanned the tools, his smile fading. He had seen a few of these devices before and knew they could produce unimaginable pain.

Some of the tools were ancient mechanical things, clamps designed to produce extreme discomfort. Others were small, deceptively simple things; their harmless appearance belying their true, sinister nature. Among them was the Inquisitor's favourite device: a small, innocent looking knife. It's outward appearance gave no indication of the amount of pain it could cause. Etched into the blade were a number of fine neural wires. One cut into a bundle of nerves and even the most stalwart follower of Chaos would be begging for mercy. Simple, efficient, and clean.

Dovator removed his jacket and cast it aside. "You _will_ tell me what I want to know." He rolled up his sleeves slowly, unblinking eyes burning into the Heretic. "We're going to go through each of these, one at a time, until I'm satisfied that you're telling me the truth." Dovator carefully arranged the devices in a row, the knife taking a place of honour in the centre. And then a thought occurred to the Inquisitor and a smile tugged at his lips. "I'll let you decide which side we start from."

* * *

_It would be a beautiful world if it weren't for this war_, Lucia thought. She was sitting on top of a small hill overlooking the capital. Ahead of her stretched the largest crop field she had ever seen. A soft breeze caused the ocean of golden crops to wave gently, giving the illusion that it was a living being. _What would you be thinking right now, if you were alive?_ Lucia knew that if she was that beautiful field, she would be filled with fear and hatred. A battle would rage here soon, possibly more fierce than any battle fought on this world in the passed week. The crop field didn't stand a chance. It would be a casualty of war, the only innocent on this entire world. The thought saddened her. Every major city they had come across had the same beauty surrounding it, and every battle to seize that city completely destroyed that beauty. But Lucia knew that retaking the planet was more important than preserving the fields. _Crops can be regrown_, she reminded herself._ Entire worlds can't_. 

Lucia rose to her feet and made her way down the hill, still staring at the field. Suddenly, a sharp pain filled her mind. She let out a short gasp and fell to her knees, eyes shut, clutching her head. And then the pain was gone. Lucia opened her eyes slowly, unsure of what had just happened. She had never felt that way before.

Towering over her, where moments ago there had been no one, was a creature the likes of which Lucia had only ever seen in nightmares. It was hideous, standing on two goat-like legs. Blood dripped from its skin, forming a small pool around its hoofs. Sharp horns protruded from its head, and a snarling, fanged mouth adorned its face. The creature brandished a massive, blood encrusted axe with both hands, and its cold, dead eyes bored into Lucia. The daemon's lips peeled back into a twisted grin, revealing rows of sharp, blood covered teeth. And then it laughed. The laughter was as unreal to Lucia as the creature's appearance. It was a chilling, evil laughter, filled with blood lust. Suddenly, the daemon howled and lunged forward, swinging its weapon in a deadly arc. Lucia screamed and fell backward, shielding her face. She lay on the ground for a time, eyes shut tightly. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she waited for the death blow.

But the axe never hit. Slowly, Lucia opened her eyes, looking around cautiously. She was alone again at the base of the hill. There was no sign of the creature, no pool of blood where it had stood only moments ago. Lucia breathed a sigh of relief and climbed to her feet. As the relief passed, a new feeling took its place: confusion. Where had that creature come from? Where had it gone? _Why_ had she seen it? Lucia remembered Dovator explaining that psykers were all different. Some were more sensitive to the Warp than others, he had said. _Could that be it?_ The presence of Chaos on this world was stronger than any place she had ever been. Perhaps this was a natural reaction to it. Nevertheless, Lucia knew it would be best to tell the Inquisitor what she had seen.

She rushed along the path toward the makeshift interrogation room that had been set up earlier. As she approached, Lucia could see Kraken sitting on the ground nearby. He was clad in carapace armour and wearing his military uniform. It had been a long time since she had seen him wearing it. The uniform seemed very restricting and yet, for some reason Lucia knew she would never understand, Kraken enjoyed wearing it.

"Is Dovator still in there?" Lucia asked.

"Yeah. Need something?"

"It's nothing." Lucia didn't want to worry Kraken with what had happened to her, and she knew that disturbing Dovator in the middle of an interrogation would be foolish.

To her left, Lucia saw Weiss and Sara seated together. Weiss was tinkering with various pieces of technology the psyker had never seen before. He poked at them with an assortment of tools, crossing wires and swapping parts, the occasional curse escaping his lips. Sara watched him intently, amazed by what he was doing, even if she didn't fully understand it. Lucia couldn't help but wonder how long it would take before Sara finally realized that Weiss didn't believe in the Machine God. She had considered telling Sara, but knew that it would probably come as an unwelcomed shock. Unlike the rest of Dovator's group, she was so firmly indoctrinated in the Imperial creed, that she believed all of the rituals were necessary. _At least Dovator stopped her from whipping herself_.

Lucia took a seat beside Kraken. She smiled warmly, happy to be around friends after her frightening experience, and leaned back, resting against one of the bulkheads. She could hear muffled screams coming from inside the structure and thanked the Emperor that the walls were thick. Lucia could only imagine the kind of pain Dovator was inflicting on the man, but she knew it had to be done. The man was a traitor to his world and to the Imperium.

Abruptly, the screams died and the door to the interrogation room flew open. Dovator rushed out, panic in his eyes. "Get on the vox!" he shouted, stumbling in his haste. "Ambush!"


	6. Chapter 6

Kraken leapt to his feet, scrambling for the nearby vox-caster. He grabbed the device, tuning the dials and flipping the switches, setting it to broadcast on all frequencies. Kraken knew he had to hurry. Borglyn's forces had been severely depleted during the past week. An ambush now would spell disaster for the remaining forces. He grabbed the speech-horn, frantically shouting Dovator's warning.

But it was too late. Explosions ripped through the crop fields, setting them ablaze. Guardsmen scattered and went to ground, pinned by the sudden bombardment. Over the vox, Kraken could hear confused shouts as the soldiers panicked and scattered, the battle line broken by fires and impact craters. On their left flank, Kraken could see the armoured battle tanks taking a hail of fire as they moved to engage the enemy. Their guns swept back and forth slowly as the gunners scanned the horizon in vain, searching for an enemy that had yet to show itself. The whine of artillery shells filled the air, and one by one, the armoured behemoths were reduced to smouldering wrecks.

On their right flank, the bombardment continued. Kraken raised his magnoculars to his eyes, desperately searching the field for any sign of the enemy. He knew that without a target for Borglyn's men to engage, they would be pinned and picked off slowly with no chance to mount an effective counter attack. But his search yielded nothing but images of death and destruction. He could see the shells continue to rain down onto the battle field, each impact igniting more and more of the crops. He could see men being burned alive as they attempted to push forward across the death trap the field had become. He could see men scrambling for cover, only to be torn apart by the explosions, their bodies strewn across the scorched earth. Kraken focussed his magnoculars, trying to get a better view of the field.

In the distance he could see the capital, rising above the crop fields. It was partially obscured by smoke, but from what Kraken could see, it was smaller than he had expected. Squat gray buildings broke up the horizon. At their centre stood a taller building that Kraken assumed was the governor's stronghold. Even from this distance, Kraken could see that it was well fortified. Without armoured support, capturing that building would be difficult. _But the city around it_ . . . Kraken knew that, despite the capital's unimpressive size, its strategic importance was enormous, especially now. Capturing that city was the key to restoring order on Gaea Prime. Those buildings would provide Borglyn's men with some much needed cover. Once they were dug in, they could take all the time they needed to seize the governor's building. As Kraken turned his view back to the burning fields, he knew that taking the city was slowly becoming an impossible task.

And then Kraken saw something that disgusted him more than all the death and destruction. He could see men who, despite their years of training and dedication to the Emperor, had let fear consume them. They turned tail and ran, leaving gaping holes in the already broken battle lines. _How can they leave their brothers there to die? _Kraken pushed his personal feelings aside. All that mattered now was the battle, and he knew that unless something was done quickly, they would lose this fight.

Dovator drew his laspistols, cursing loudly. Turning to his retinue, he shouted something that Kraken could not quite make out over the explosions. But Kraken did not need to hear the Inquisitor's words to understand what he had said. This was Dovator's home, and he would do all he could to save it, even if it cost him his life. As a soldier, Kraken understood completely and knew that it was their duty as servants of the Emperor to reclaim this planet. As a friend, he vowed to do all he could to see that Dovator survive this engagement.

The Inquisitor raced forward to join the battle line, determined to rally the scattered guardsmen and press the attack. Without armoured support, Kraken knew they had no other choice: they would have to charge across the open field, weathering the continuous bombardment, and take the capital in a head-on assault. "Not the brightest plan ever, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit this one out," Kraken muttered. He grabbed his lasgun and sprinted across the field after Dovator; Weiss, Sara, and Lucia close behind.

Ahead, Kraken could see fires raging, filling the battle field with thick, black smoke. He squinted, trying to keep the Inquisitor in view, but as the smoke grew thicker, it became impossible. Kraken could only barely make out Dovator's outline, and a moment later, even that had vanished. Screams filled the air; loud wails from the wounded and dying only adding to the confusion the smoke caused. Still, the veteran continued forward, praying he would not run head first into the enemy.

Something caught Kraken's leg and he tripped. He fell forward, landing hard, the wind knocked out of him. Kraken cursed as he rolled onto his back and raised his lasgun, finger already tightening on the trigger. But there was nothing there. Puzzled, Kraken rose to his feet. He scanned the ground carefully, searching for the object that had caused his fall. And then he saw it; a bloody arm stretched across his path, barely visible on the scorched earth. Cautiously, Kraken moved toward it, weapon at the ready, trying to get a better view through the smoke. As he got closer, he could see that the arm was attached to a body, equally as bloody. Kraken recognized the uniform. It was one of Borglyn's men.

Kraken knelt beside the man and rolled him over. The man's chest was crushed and his face blackened. Whispering a prayer to the Emperor, Kraken searched the body for anything that could be salvaged. _Nothing_. He took one final look at the guardsman and rose to his feet. Suddenly, the man's eyes shot open.

"Please," the man gasped, blood spilling from his mouth. He raised a feeble arm toward Kraken, fingers clutching at the air. This man was broken, both in body and in spirit. Kraken could see the pain in his eyes, and he knew what needed to be done. And in that moment of understanding, he hated the man lying before him. He hated the fact that _he_ would have to be the one to end this man's life. For years, Kraken had fought and killed enemies of the Imperium, Heretics who were nothing more than a plague to be cleansed. But now, for the first time in his life, he would have to kill a fellow soldier. Or would he? He could just walk away, and no one would ever know. He could pretend that he had never seen the man, had never seen the pain in those eyes. And yet, as much as Kraken wished it, he knew that he could not leave now. This man deserved better than that. The veteran raised his lasgun slowly and took aim. "I grant you the Emperor's Benediction," he said softly. Kraken exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Incoming!"

Dovator hit the ground hard and rolled to his right, tumbling into a large impact crater. A mortar shell exploded where he had been moments earlier, showering him in dirt and ash. The Inquisitor lay there stunned, the wind knocked out of him, his ears ringing from the blast. He could hear voices calling out to him, but they seemed muted, distant. _What do you want?_ Dovator thought, impatiently. _Let me rest._ Two pairs of hands grabbed him roughly under each arm and hauled him to his feet. There was a third man standing in front of him. "Snap out of it!" The man was shouting, waving a hand in the Inquisitor's face. Dovator tried to focus, but his ears were still aching and his mind was in a fog. He blinked several times, shaking his head slowly. And then the man slapped him. Hard.

Dovator stepped backwards, eyes wide in surprise. The Inquisitor wasn't pleased with having been struck in such a manner, but he had to admit, it did have the desired effect. He studied the man in front of him; one of Borglyn's officers, by the looks of the uniform. The man was tall, a few inches taller than Dovator, but lightly built. His hair was short, typical of an officer in the Guard, and his boots still had a shine to them. This was a man who took his command very seriously.

"I'm really sorry about that, sir," the man said, stooping to pick up the Inquisitor's hat. He dusted it off and held it out to Dovator sheepishly. "I fully expect to be disciplined for my actions, but I needed you up and alert."

The Inquisitor replaced the hat on his head. "Maybe later," he muttered, rubbing his cheek. A dark red hand print had already made its appearance. "Who are you?"

The guardsman was visibly relieved. He had just struck an Inquisitor and was fairly confident, given the other's tone, that he would avoid any serious repercussions. Dovator was certain the officer half expected to be summarily executed. The man saluted crisply. "Lieutenant Collins, sir. Fifth platoon."

Dovator glanced around. The two men who had lifted him up were at the far edge of the impact crater now, peering over the lip. They spoke quietly with one another. "Where are all your men, Lieutenant?"

"You're looking at them, sir. We were hit by mortars early in the engagement and my squads scattered to take cover. The vox is dead, and we can't see shit through the smoke." Collins rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't suppose you'd know . . . what our orders are? Right now, I don't even know which way to point my lasgun."

Dovator nodded. They were in a fine mess: low visibility, no radio, and no way of knowing where the rest of Borglyn's men were. Or how many of them were even still alive. If only he had been able to extract the information about the ambush sooner. . . "We need to push toward the capital. Getting out of this field is a priority. I want you to take your men and head out that way." The Inquisitor gestured to the far end of the crater. "Spread the word to anyone you find. And try finding a working vox. I'll head the other way and do the same."

Collins turned sharply and headed over to his men. "Move out!" he shouted. Half way up the side of the impact crater he stopped and turned back to Dovator. Rubbing the back of his neck again, he asked: "Which way is the –" The Inquisitor pointed in the direction of the capital before Collins could finish his sentence. "Right. Thank you, sir."

Dovator watched silently as the Lieutenant pulled himself over the lip of the crater and disappeared into the smoke.

* * *

Lucia's legs burned as she struggled to keep up with Weiss. He was faster than she had expected, considering he spent most of his time on the ship either at the controls or under some arcane piece of equipment. If she didn't know any better, she would have guessed he had bionic implants in his legs. Or at the very least, enhanced respiratory and circulator systems. _I wonder what he'd say to that, if I asked him. _The thought of him running around with patchwork metal legs, spouting his 'you can't fix the machine if you are the machine' rhetoric, amused her.

She could hear Sara behind her and to the right, breathing heavily. Lucia wondered how difficult it must be to run with a body covered in all those purity seals. She knew it didn't matter, though. Sara would never remove them, no matter how difficult they made things. Lucia could imagine the other woman's reasoning: 'overcoming hardship is the first step on the path to redemption.' _Nonsense_, Lucia thought. _Just another misguided teaching of the Imperium. _But maybe there was something to it. Lucia had seen into the Warp. She knew that souls were real. She also knew that many of them were weak, tortured constantly and for all eternity by the daemons that also called the Warp home. If there were some way to strengthen the soul, to protect it from such horrors, then maybe it was worth the constant discomfort.

Ahead of her, Weiss slowed to a walk. Clear of most of the choking smoke, he scanned the field, desperately searching for some sign of Kraken or Dovator. They had been running for some time now, hoping to catch up with the two men; the smoke had made it impossible to see which way they had gone.

The crops were still standing in this area, untouched by the constant bombardment and the raging fires that had consumed most of the field. They stood about waist high and still had the same beautiful golden shimmer that had enthralled Lucia earlier. _You don't give up, do you? _She admired the tenacity of nature to cling to life, in spite of the odds. Lucia stretched out her arms and ran her fingers over the crops. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. Shutting out the sounds of battle around her, Lucia continued her slow march forward. A soft breeze rolled over her and she raised her face to the sky, feeling the warmth of the air across her skin. It was almost paradise.

"Weiss!"

Lucia started; wrenched back to the harsh reality of the war zone. She looked to her right, trying to identify the source of the voice. Some distance away, the golden field burned. Thick black plumes of smoke rose into the air, blocking out the clear blue skies beyond. The darkness of the scene frightened Lucia; it was a stark contrast to the part of the field she now found herself in. It was more than just the burning field that frightened her, however. She couldn't help but feel that this darkness represented something sinister. Coupled with her earlier vision, Lucia was certain terrible things were on the horizon.

Her eyes continued to scan the field. Closer to her, and getting closer still, was a lone figure pushing its way through the crops at a hurried pace. Lucia squinted, trying to make out the details of the figure against the dark backdrop. She smiled. _I'd recognize that hat anywhere._ It was Dovator.

* * *

Weiss jogged passed Lucia and Sara, toward the Inquisitor. "Where have you been?" he called loudly, a mix of relief and anger in his voice. Since he had known Dovator, he had always known what the Inquisitors plan was – where the other was going to be, what he was going to do. Granted, things rarely went according to plan, but at least it was something. _What's the plan this time?_ Weiss wondered. As far as he could tell, this time, there didn't seem to be a plan. It was unsettling.

"I need you to get on a vox and give the order to advance on the capital. Take Lucia. Sara, you're with me." Dovator turned and hurried back the way he had come, a bewildered Sara following close behind.

Weiss stared after them for a moment, dumbstruck. His search for Dovator had finally come to an end and he was hoping for some explanation of the situation or, at the very least, a moment for them to regroup and reorient themselves. "Well," Weiss muttered to himself as he turned back to Lucia. "That was helpful. Back toward the smoke, I guess."

The two set off at a slow jog, carefully scanning the horizon for any sign of Borglyn's men. The chances of finding a squad with a working vox on this field were slim, Weiss knew. Most of the men had scattered when the mortars started falling, and much of the field was cut off to them by raging fires. That they had yet to encounter anyone other than Dovator only reinforced Weiss's belief.

"There!" Lucia shouted, increasing her pace to a full on sprint.

"What are you –" Weiss started, desperately trying to see what she had seen. The smoke ahead of them shifted slightly, and he was able to make out the silhouette of several battered tanks. They were still too far away to determine the extent of the damage, but Weiss knew this was their best bet; there was bound to be a working vox in at least one of the wrecks. He ran his fastest toward the tanks, determined to do his part to help Dovator.

Weiss reached the wrecked behemoths first and bounded up the side of the closest one. "Check the next one over!" he called back to Lucia as he struggled to open the tank's hatch; it was badly warped from a mortar impact. The tech adept planted his feet firmly on either side of the hatch and pulled with all his strength. The hatch flew open and bathed Weiss in a wave of hot air. He stepped back cursing, instinctively raising his arms to protect his face. Taking a deep breath, Weiss eased himself down into the damaged vehicle.

The interior of the tank's hull was hazy – an unpleasant mix of smoke from burnt out electronics and steam that assaulted Weiss's senses and made him regret his decision to enter the ruined vehicle so quickly. The intense heat was already making him light-headed and his eyes watered as he struggled to find a working vox. A short distance ahead of him, the tech adept saw the tank crew. One of the men, the driver, lay in his chair, his upper body charred. Sparks were still coming out of the damaged equipment that surrounded him. The others lay on the tank floor, face down. Weiss approached them cautiously and checked the bodies. _Dead_. Their hands were raw, and Weiss knew that it wasn't the ordnance impact that had killed them. The warped hatch had sealed them in as the temperature steadily increased. _What a way to go._

Weiss's eyes continued their journey, taking in more and more of the ruined systems that lined the tank's hull. _Come on… It has to be here somewhere…_ The temperature inside the tank was taking a toll on him now and he stumbled forward, his head spinning. Weiss regained his balance and headed for the hatch, hoping for better luck in the next tank. He took one last look at the tank crew as he reached up to lift himself out of the vehicle. And then he saw it, partially obscured by one of the bodies: an intact vox-caster.

* * *

Lucia reached the tank Weiss had indicated. The vehicle sat at an awkward angle, its left tread mangled. The psyker scrambled up the side of the crippled behemoth and found the tank's hatch wide open; the crew had abandoned their immobile war machine some time ago. Lucia prayed they hadn't thought to take the vox-caster with them.

As she approached the hatch, Lucia was overcome with the same sharp pain that had invaded her mind earlier. She stumbled backward off the tank and landed hard on her back, the wind knocked out of her. Lucia instinctively curled her body into the foetal position and pressed her hands firmly against her temples, hoping to alleviate some of the pain. Once again, the pain subsided. The psyker rose to her feet in a panic, expecting to once again be confronted by the hideous daemon from her previous vision. Relief washed over her as she realized that she was alone. Cautiously, Lucia stepped back toward the tank. _Something is different_, Lucia thought as she scanned the surrounding area.

The sounds of battle that had been a constant drone in her ears seemed to have vanished. Even the warm breeze that had periodically kissed her skin seemed to be missing. _Where has everyone gone?_ Lucia's brow furrowed in confusion as she made her way slowly past the wreckage, her eyes being drawn to the horizon beyond. The sky was once again a beautiful, clear blue and there were no signs of the fires that had ravaged the fields only moments ago.

Suddenly, a brilliant glow began to engulf the sky, rushing up from the distant fields like a wave and setting the sky ablaze in a fiery orange light. The psyker shielded her eyes from the brightness. In the distance, and coming nearer at an alarming rate, were a growing mass of dark clouds. An unnatural lightning flashed within the dark depths of the clouds as they spread silently, consuming the light of the sky. They converged quickly, leaving a shrinking eye directly above the psyker.

A chill ran down Lucia's spine as the last rays of light from the burning sky were blotted out and a quiet calm settled on the area. It was as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting intently for what was to come. The psyker followed suit, a mixture of fear and curiosity overtaking her. A loud thunderclap broke the silence, making Lucia jump, and from the darkness came a heavy rain of bright red blood. Lucia watched in horror as the field before her withered and rotted under the downpour. The ground began to shift, and from its depths climbed the dead. They began their slow march toward her, mouth's open in silent screams of anguish.

"What's going on?" Weiss called out to her, but she didn't hear him. She stepped backward slowly, unable to take her eyes off of the terrible sight before her. Lucia slumped to the ground, shaking her head in disbelief.

"No," she told the vision, finally forcing her eyes shut. "This isn't real." Lucia rocked herself backward and forward. "This isn't real."

Weiss was on his knees in front of her now, hands clasped on her shoulders. He shook her gently, a concerned look on his face. "What's wrong?" He asked again. The psyker opened her eyes and met his gaze.

"I'm not –" Lucia began. And then, as suddenly as she had received the vision, she understood its meaning. Her eyes widened in fear and she stared back at him, her breath catching in her throat. "We can't win . . ." She managed in a panicked whisper. "This world is lost."


End file.
